Chapter 12

He looked at me pointedly; his attention fixed on me. “What?” Sharp, enquiring.

“I don’t want to play the what-if game.”

He raised his hands in the air, questioning me.

I closed my eyes and could feel my face prickle, burning, as if I’d spiked a temperature. “Looking back is a waste of time and energy,” I said.

“Rehashing the past helps restore things; it puts things into perspective.”

“Do you want to keep remembering the awful things we did to each other? The god-awful words that crippled us?” I shook my head. “I don’t.” I started to stand, knocking my left knee into the bottom of the table, wincing and crying out, “Goddamn it.” I felt Dave’s hand on my arm, a firm grasp pulling me back into the seat, trying to keep me in the present, talking, and thinking.

I let out an agonized moan and sat back down on the faux leather cushion, leaning my head back against the polished oak partition separating us from the empty booth behind us.